


the artform of body sculpture

by lategenocide



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Bodily Gore?, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, all gore, comparisons of torture to art and sex, describes wounds, jeongin is the insane one, just purely gore and insanity, no sexual assault if you're worried, purely gore, studies of torture from the torturers view, they are... were? in a relationship, trigger warnings for descriptions of torture, using the statistic of felony violence offenders having sexual deviations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 21:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30011118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lategenocide/pseuds/lategenocide
Summary: After all, he wasn't barbaric. Even the simplest of minds knew that in order to preserve art, you had to clean it, look after it- perfect it.( jeongin is determined to make the art he has dreamed of. too bad it required human flesh )
Relationships: Hwang Hyunjin/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Kudos: 4





	the artform of body sculpture

**Author's Note:**

> hi :> please do not read this if you on't like the subject matter ://  
> additional warnings for people who skipped the tags: body gore, torture, sexual deviation ( extreme sadism ? ), blood imagery, wound imagery.

The screaming was loud, annoying- coarse and desperate. Yang Jeongin watched as the person- nothing more than a bloodied, overgrown hunk of meat, really- crawled away from him, skinned knees leaving behind a trail of green infection. He watched Hyunjin with adoration and a hot iron whip, admiring the artwork lacerated into the flesh of the very person they adored _so, so much_. Hyunjin's tears had dried away days ago to each slash of Jeongin's favorite knife, trekking its way down the blood on his face. It left a non too clean trail that curved with the swell of Hyunjin's cheeks before Jeongin had lovingly cleaned it all off, like a good boyfriend.

After all, he wasn't _barbaric_. Even the simplest of minds knew that in order to preserve art, you had to clean it, look after it- perfect it.

And Hyunjin was in perfect condition.

Jeongin shivered in excitement as he surveyed his Hyunjin- the details on his hands had long healed into purple-toned scarring running into his flesh, serpentine and dizzying. It was just the beginnings of his art the edges of his thoughts that would translate perfectly onto the blank canvas that was his beautiful lover. He could see in his head- the dips and curves and ragged lines, meshing and weaving and clashing together like a symphony of sculpture.

Jeongin preferred flesh to marble.

Hyunjin's blood-stained hands wrapped weakly around his infected knees, weak extremities clawing at the open wounds, whimpering sobbing pleas that made no sense to Jeongin's ears. It all sounded very desperate, hopefully yet scared- he couldn't understand why.

"Jinnie," Jeongin cooed softly, crouching down to his lover's level, pushing aside their damp hair to see his lightless eyes. "Don't worry. We're almost done for today. I love you." The iron whip hissed as its tail was dragged against the wet concrete floor, mucking up the blood that stained the surface.

Hyunjin backed away from him, every twitch of his facial expressions screaming _haunted_ in Jeongin's face. He held out his out as if to ward away a fierce, unrelenting ghost- "Please don't hurt me..." his voice was weak, nothing short of a coarse, nearly useless whisper that rang out loud in the empty, acoustic basement.

Jeongin narrowed his eyes- he reached for his dagger, strapped to the side of his shapely thigh for easy access. It dug into the flesh on an already open wound, cutting closer to sinew and bone. Hyunjin flinched, a muffled groan coming out of his closed mouth. Jeongin locked one of his wrists down to the ground with a hand.

"I don't want to, but if you're going to misbehave, I'm going to chain you up," Jeongin snapped. He wiped away wet blood from Hyunjin's cheek. It glistening under the yellow glow of the artificial lighting, taking parts of Hyunjin's with it. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"N-no," Hyunjin huffed, his breath coming in short puffs, reminding Jeongin of the bugs he used to crush under his heel. Their lives were so _easy_ , so _useless_ and _delicate_. They were not art, not even interesting to watch wither under his microscope of twisted curiosity. Hyunjin was full of vitality, holding onto strand life been as he twitched under Jeongin's hands. It was almost like _sex_ \- marks and blood, movements and everlasting imprints, all made into a collection that lived on one body that eventually led to pleasure, beautiful in its nuances and delicate boundaries and little details. Hyunjin's glassy wide eyes, his naked, virgin flesh, waiting to be _tainted_ \- Jeongin revered in all of it.

He loved every piece of it, the stench of blood, the hiss of a hot iron on the skin, the bruising and discolor, the pinked scarring that he'd run his fingers over and dips of scars that had cut away at flesh, even those open wounds that he caressed carefully with ointments at night, wrapped them up with gauze as Hyunjin twitched every once in a while under his hands, sedate with pain killers and drugs that rendered him limp in Jeongin's arms.

It was his blank canvas filling up with the art he had intended, every brushstroke a bump or a cut or a discolor bruise that added to the contrasts and compositions of his love for it all. The journey of it swelled up in his veins as he stared at the near-complete art in front of him, haunted and beautiful. It would be gruesome to anyone else- skin that fell off the flesh, burnt and black. The red inflammation and yellow and goo of infection, the white of bones peeking, the details of the flesh under underneath skin, exposed and shown off like meat at a butcher's, and the blood that pooled around them, ever so slowly becoming bigger and bigger. If not for Jeongin's careful management of techniques that would staunch and slow blood flow, Hyunjin would have died long ago and where would he be? A god-to-be would have been dead in his arms, and he would've had to admit to his murder.

No, no- of course not. Jeongin was always careful with his art, Hyunjin's body is his canvas and therefore the god he would worship, brushstrokes leaping over every surface to ensure perfection. It would be _perfect_. He would be patient.

When he could brand his name forever on a finished canvas, it would all be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! if you have thoughts will gladly receive them all with happiness <3
> 
> and i ran a poll on pure gore in czennie/stay writer twt! [here](https://twitter.com/neverfates/status/1369714098242392065?s=20)  
> this is what led me to posting this :))
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/neverfates)  
> 


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